Final impressions of M1

The past suddenly bores me (seems to be a reflection of my present worldly ennui) so time to hit the ‘publish’ button and close this chapter of the past before returning to my ‘now’.

I accuse myself of thinking and analysing too much and sometimes taking too little action. The mental side of bondage and discipline is one of the few things that makes me live in the now: when I was bent over M1’s knees with my bare backside catching the breeze and trying to predict when a blow would land, I’d know I was alive. The guesswork of trying to sense when, where and how hard I’d feel an impact clears my mind of all other thoughts and makes me live each second. The constant anticipation is unexpectedly draining and the only time I’ve needed my safeword was not from physical pain, but because I had hit mental and sensory overload.

When my left wrist and left ankle cuffs were clipped together and my right side was a mirror image, nothing existed in life except the moment and trying to predict the next few seconds of my life. Would M1 straddle me and make me gag on his uncircumcised cock? Or find the uninterrupted view of my wet cunt too much to handle and fuck me in this defenceless state? If he was in a pleased frame of mind, he’d pull the collar so my neck and head were suspended in controlled animation as he fucked me. I will walk barefoot to the end of the earth across molten lava fields to experience that mix of control and helplessness again; joyfully, Jekyll has developed his own spin of biting my ear while holding a hand around my throat. I don’t know how and don’t know why but I get lost in a rush of conflicting but compatible discomforts and pleasures.

One day M1 took me to a shop that specialises in fetish clothing and accessories. My eyeballs almost exploded from the phantasmagoria of books, clothing, collars, toys, chastity devices, footwear and hitting implements. I wish, though, it wasn’t one of those uncomfortable pauses in people’s conversations that I said a little too loudly, “It’s like a big jewellery shop … but … with really cool stuff.” I received a glare from M1 for slipping out of role but the man at the counter and I shared a secret smile.

I’ll always remember the night M1 was driving us home from the fetish club and we were pulled over by police for roadside breath testing. I relaxed in the passenger seat as he had his alcohol level tested, knowing he’d be under the limit, but forgetting I was still clad in collar, cuffs and the leash draped in my lap until the policeman’s torch illuminated my side of the cabin. Whoops. Hello. That was the start of many policeman fantasies that are yet to be fulfilled.

M1 was the medium through which I found ways of creating lightness in what was a pit of cerebral darkness. And gave me the first sex I’ve had on a New Year’s Eve – brief, sweaty and uncomfortable in stifling humidity but this year is the only one I’ve started with a bang and a smack.

“when I was bent over M1’s knees with my bare backside catching the breeze and trying to predict when a blow would land, I’d know I was alive.”

Alive. The perfect word for it. And when it’s mixed with subspace, it’s this trippey kind of being alive. Where everything is surreal but more real than ever and ever smack is a reminder of how nothing matters except the right here and now.

You’re right about the moments being real and surreal. Time seems to slow into fragments of seconds and those moments between expecting a hand or tool to land and its impact feel like forever. And there’s so much time to think … I said I wanted this and now I’m not sure but it’s too late to back out and OUCH! Oh that was good, when’s the next one coming OUCH …